Come What May
by Tambri
Summary: Inspired by George Orwell's 1984. When the Wizarding Community has been thrown into a position of weakness and the magic folk struggle to comprehend the fact that perhaps it would have been better to let Voldemort live, only a hidden plot from too many ye


_**Come What May**_

o.O

_**Chapter One: Augrey's Tavern**_

The only difference between Virginia Wesley and the next waitress was a silver metal ring around her wrist. It fit the thin bone perfectly, seeming to meld into the skin with all the bumps and imperfections of her lithe arm. She looked a little at loss, balancing a tray of food on her left hand, using her right to make sure she didn't topple over. When the people at the table she was heading for saw her bracelet, they looked away, out the window, into the clear sky or the rich green glass, as was customary. She served them their plates and scurried away, head bowed, and in her leave was a trail of heads turning away. Nobody looked at the Scrubbles when they could help it. Nobody wanted to lay their eyes upon such filth.

When Virginia got off from work that night, she threw on her white coat, which was really not thick enough for the cold outside, and waited for The Bus to come. The Bus was a large, purple triple-decker with black paint sloshed carelessly on the sides, as if to hide words that had once born its proud title, and big white, imposing letters. THE BUS - HELPING SCRUBBLES TRANSPORT FROM HERE TO THERE SINCE 1999. She boarded The Bus when it stopped in front of Augrey's Talon, the place she'd been working at for nearly five years, and sat down at the nearest seat. She didn't need to tell them where she lived for this route was much like a Muggle School Bus Route, on which the bus driver already knew where to pick the people up and where to drop them off. If the driver ever reported a Scrubble getting off on the wrong stop, the Scrubble disappeared and never returned.

The bus was stopped in traffic at several points, and the ride home for Virginia was uncomfortable. The seats smelled of sweat and the other Scrubbles stank of despair and loss. Nobody said a word, and in the silence, Virginia's eyes traced various designs on the seat in front of her. And when the bus finally stopped at a dilapidated old apartment building, four Scrubbles, Virginia among them, departed and went to the front office to get their daily password from the Kind Souls. They were Muggles who ran the place, and got their name from the fact that they had actually agreed to consort with the disgusting creatures called Scrubbles. Virginia approached the blond woman at Desk 5 and said her name very clearly, and the woman said back to her, "Hazel fire."

Three stories up, Virginia stopped outside of Number 316 and repeated the password, her hand placed firmly on the wooden plank they called a door. The force that opened the door was something they had taken from the Scrubbles, back in the beginning, something called Magick. No, wait, that wasn't right. It was just magic, something Virginia had been able to live with up until she was nineteen years old, when the current Dark Lord, Voldemort, was killed by an apparent saviour. But he hadn't been much of a saviour, really, to take them from one tyrannical hell hole to another. Virginia had known the man personally, but she would never forgive him for the mistakes he had made which had led up to this point in her life.

They'd once called her Ginny. Ginevra Weasley, she remembered vaguely, grabbing a bag of popcorn from one of the mouldy cupboards and throwing it in a dirty microwave. But Weasley was the name of a pureblood wizarding family, and so it had been outlawed. Ginevra had been a name meant only for those worthy of such names, and so they stamped upon Ginny the name Virginia Wesley, not telling her what had happened to her family; not telling her anything about her old home except that she now had a new one. Third story up, number 316, at the local Scrubble Apartment Complex. The room had come with a sheet of paper on the door that told her of her job, and what time she had to be where and why, and what she had to do when she got there.

Next door, Virginia's friend Laurel Smith could be heard listening to the Muggle music station, singing along with the words. For the first time all day, Virginia grinned, her soft brown eyes glistening with unshed tears. She looked at her clock, which sat above a dismantled fireplace, and saw that she had almost two hours before curfew, which was at 9:00 pm. She scurried out of her flat and knocked on number 318, having to do so several times because of the sheer volume that Laurel had pumped up her radio. Finally the music turned off and the door opened, revealing a short blond-haired woman with bright blue eyes and a pencil stuck behind her ear.

"Gin! I didn't know your shift ended so early today," said the woman, ushering Ginny into her apartment. It was a lot messier than Virginia's, with clothes littering the floor and books spread out pell-nell, and her kitchen hardly even seemed to exist under the large pile of plushies and stuffed animals. Most of them were eagles of some sort, although there were a few badgers, lions, dolphins, rabbits, and horses. All of them were a violent shade of dark purple with bright blue eyes. Laurel was famous for making them with each week's worth of allowed magic. She sold them, and got at least thirty pounds more a month than her job at the local fast food restaurant allowed.

"They had me cover Thomas's shift," Virginia said, sitting down on a chair that was just covered with those little stuffed animals, "'Cause the Talon's closing early tonight for a special guest. Only Muggles, you know, that sort of thing." She brushed a loose curl of vibrant red hair out of her face, making her soft freckles much more prominent. "And you know, I don't think Thomas is coming back. Arrested him for _improper use of weekly allowances_, of all things. Honestly, he didn't even have a collection of stuffed memories." She picked up a winged horse and cocked her head to the side. "Threstral?"

"Yeah," said Laurel, sounding a bit tense as she sat down across from Virginia. "Poor Thomas. I suppose it's just another casualty, of course, the Muggles would never admit that." Virginia nodded and snorted derisively when Laurel pulled a face. "_There will be no war, we can assure you. We have the Scrubbles_ - honestly, _Scrubbles!_ - _under control and will be allowing them to live every day, normal lives. Because of our kindness and willingness to take care of their kind, the Scrubble Minister has decided to step down from his most unnecessary post..._" Laurel sighed sadly, again.

"Well, I guess it's a good thing we're still allowed to talk about it. In some parts of Europe they've begun arresting folks like us for 'Improper Words Against the Government.' Honestly, not a war? I wonder what they called Hitler's reign in the 1930s and '40s."

Laurel didn't respond to that. She stood up, as if she had suddenly been burned, and rushed to the kitchen, somehow managing to move about and boil a pot of water in her plushie-donned cooking space. "Earl Grey or Green?" She asked. Virginia responded with a grunt, which usually meant 'whatever, just as long as you spike it.' And for several moments Laurel bustled about the kitchen unnecessarily and Virginia was left to sit on the chair and ponder over this and that. Worthless things to ponder over, but it was her mind and these days nothing was wasting it. Scrubbles couldn't get real careers.

o.O

Harry Potter's name had been plain and bland enough. The Muggles didn't bother changing it, unaware that by doing so they would be tying the first knot in a series of ropes that would lead to their downfall. Still, the twenty-something year old man didn't look particularly threatening, or powerful, and the silver bracelet on his wrist signified all the power he had. None. His dark, shaggy hair was all over the place, standing on end in some places and remaining complete unmanageable, no matter what he did with it. There was nothing unusual about his dark green eyes, or the soft stubble that decked his chin, and he didn't seem particularly impressive when it came to body structure or stance. But still, one didn't need to see the bracelet on his arm to know he was a Wiz-ahem, Scrubble.

First, there was the mark on his forehead, strategically placed between two black locks of hair so that its shape could be clearly seen. Like a lightening bolt, it marred his otherwise smooth complexion with puckered redness, and seemed to make his absolutely normal features extraordinary. And behind his emotionless mask there was a dancing fire, flames of determination and hope and fierceness refusing to die through the gallons of water the Muggles poured on. Somehow, Harry had managed to not kill himself of self-loathing and guilt and instead wallowed alone in a dark alley in a place that had once been a centre of laughter and life and light.

Here, he worked eight hours a day feeding the homeless children and glaring at anyone who dared speak to him. Years ago, when he had been fighting for their rights, he remembered feeling that if only the muggles and wizards could live in peace, everything would be alright again. But now, somehow the tables had flopped. Muggles ruled everything and magic was treated like something disgusting, owned only by the Scrubbles. Whatever had possessed the Muggle Minister to call the magic folk 'Scrubbles' had been more than enough to piss off a lot of people. But it didn't matter anymore.

Harry sat alone on a long bench, eating the cold soup in his bowl with a practised mechanicism. The few children who were still down and playing with each other or eating glared at him as if he were a slug or something equally nasty that the adults had told not to kill for one reason or another. Sometimes a younger one would walk up to him and touch his knee, and then run away squealing. They made bets, dared each other, taunted him like a piece of haunted property, and in the end it did nothing to quell his anger and hatred. Someday, he thought, he would get these people back for corrupting the young ones' minds and ruining his life.

Another Scrubble who worked here, her name was Winnifred Brown, finished serving the last of the soup and came to sit across from Harry, cradling a dirty cup with some unidentified liquid within with a look of fatigue on her haunted face. Harry watched her for a brief moment, examining her pallid complexion and blunt nose. Lines of age and worry creased in folds on her skin, making her look at least forty, if not fifty-something, and her hard grey eyes drooped heavily. She had been a prideful woman, in the Time Before, with a streak for pointing out political wrong-doings and social injustices. Harry had known her for about two years, having met her just after graduating Hogwarts, before the fighting ended and the wizarding community more or less submitted to this new form of Evil.

"How yeh holdin' up?" Winnifred asked him, her voice grated and giving the feeling of rubbing your teeth against cotton.

"Hmm," Harry replied, as he did day after day. There was really no use to answer the question anymore. The conversation was repeated day after day, only a few words ever changing here and there. The few older children who were still managing to avoid the demands to go to sleep of their elders remained and tried to get closer to the two Scrubbles, wanting to overhear something that might cause a ruckus.

"Hmm, indeed," said Winnifred. "The sky could be fallin' for all yeh know it and you'd still be sittin' there like a corpse. Where's yeh fire gone?" She took a long draught of her mysterious drink and looked just a bit dizzy for it.

"Didn't you hear?" Harry asked, his voice bitter and sarcastic, "They snuffed it."

Had Harry said 'the Muggles snuffed it' or something of the like, one of the children could have squealed and brought it to the attention of one of the adults, and Harry would have probably been taken into custody for at least a few hours being questioned. But there was still enough freedom for Scrubbles that they could talk ill of the government amongst themselves, though any plotting got them viciously beaten, and whatever rotten thing they could possibly say was said each and every day.

"Ah, I see," said Winnifred, almost snorting at whatever her odd sense of humour found particularly funny about that statement. "Well, guess that means the end of yeh, doesn't it?" Chuckles rolled from within her as if something very funny had just been said.

"Whatever you've got up your sleeve, Win, it isn't going to work. Sorry." Harry chewed on a soggy potato thoughtfully.

"Isn't it?" She asked, actually sounding a bit sad, as if she truly believed Harry's comment and hadn't thought of it before. "Well, then, guess I'll just have to think up something else." She got up, spilling the contents of her drink out on the floor as she did so (a smirk on her face as several of the students cried out and Harry cursed). With a wink towards a now very furious Harry, who was now attempting to order the kids to get him a towel and succeeding only in getting laughed at, Winnifred disappeared out the door just as the rumbling sound of The Bus came along to pick up the Scrubbles.

"Damn her," Harry growled. "Look," he spat at one of the nearby children, "just go get a damn towel, I can't stay here to pick all this up. I have to get on The Bus." With that he turned, leaving several indignant children behind, and boarded the large triple decker, joining Winnifred in a seat at the very back of the second deck. "Why the hell did you do that?" He asked.

"They deserved it," said Winnifred, giggling.

"They bloody well did, but you've only just made the situation harder on us."

"Whatever I can do against this political injustice, I will," she said, and after that spoke nothing else. That is, until her stop, which was one before Harry's. She kissed him on the cheek as she got up. "Just don't do anything remarkably stupid thinking you can outshine me in my brilliance."

Harry snorted. "You needn't worry."

O.o

Virginia woke up the next morning to the sound of her ringing alarm clock, telling her that it was a half hour until she had to be at the Talon. She cuddled up into her small, twin-sized bed for a moment, wrapping her thin flannel blanket (which she had paid and arm and a leg for about a year before after saving up with her weekly allowances) tightly around her body and burrying her face into the moth-bitten pillow for as long as she could before she _knew_ that if she didn't get up, she'd be late for work. With a long-suffering sigh, she rolled out of her bed, which was in the corner of the small, white-washed room, and with a _thump_ her bare feet fell on the linoleum floor. The cold sent shock waves through her body, and for a moment she almost considered jumping right back on her bed and curling up in her blanket again. Screw work.

But, of course, she couldn't do that. Fighting off the shock of iciness, she padded over to her dresser and pulled out a long-sleeved black t shirt and dark blue jeans that fit her petite waist snugly. She took a shower, got dressed, and then pulled her hair back into a hazardous bun with all intentions of fixing it on The Bus between home and work. She met Laurel and two other Scrubbles at the stop in front of the apartment complex and they waited. And waited. In silence. Sometimes The Bus was late, and sometimes it was early, so there was no reason to fret. It pulled up about ten minutes after it was supposed to have arrived and the four got on, taking their seats at the front of the first deck.

"Do you have anything planned today?" Laurel asked, breaking through the silence that usually occupied their little section of the bus.

"Not that I know of," Virginia replied, her voice fatigued. She hadn't gotten nearly enough sleep last night, what with the caffeinated tea and nightly terrors that were called nightmares (and what an understatement that was).

"Ah, okay then, I was thinking we could go to the coffee shop after work, you know, if you aren't shifting late."

Virginia shrugged. Sure, yeah, whatever. "I'm not sure if I will be. It depends on whether or not Thomas has returned."

Laurel nodded and let Virginia up to get off at her stop. Virginia hardly spared a glance to the large, neon sign that read:

**Augrey's Talon: Best Food In Town**

**(Kind Souls Work Here)**

She didn't want to think about the fact that 'Kind Souls Work Here' simply meant that this was a place where Scrubbles were allowed to work, and thus was a place that many people avoided. The only reason some political figures came along was to prove to the world that they were caring and kind enough to work at a place where their money would profit such pathetic creatures. Virginia's heart went out to her fellow Scrubbles who had to endure the pain of being shunned and laughed at by working at the places where the Kind Souls didn't oversee daily. Kind souls though they were not, they still prevented cruelty and, for that, Virginia felt a sort of bitter, resentful gratefulness.

Once inside the Talon, the smell of various meats and spices filled her nose. Virginia detested this smell, but she was more than tolerable of it since she really had no other choice. The layout for the place was nice, she thought, realizing as she did so that those thoughts betrayed her hatred for the restaurant. But she could no longer fight her fondness for any of the muggle technology; after five years of viewing everything as Hell, it was nice to look at something and see a bright side to it. Virginia moved with a mechanic stance, ignoring the faces that turned away from her as she walked past to the kitchens. Back there several other Scrubbles worked, although most of them had been there all night, working on the late shift.

"Hey chick," said the woman who had once been Pavarti Patil, but who was, as of 1999, simply Patricia. Virginia had never bothered to learn the girl's last name, feeling as if she were to think of her at least as Patricia Patil, some semblance of an old peace would come back to her. She grinned at the lank woman, who would be painfully gorgeous if she weren't so thin and her teeth weren't so yellow, and nodded.

"Thomas get back?" She asked, her grin fading slightly as she took a waitress's apron from the closet and wrapped it around her waist and tied it behind her neck. "I didn't hear if it was a minor infraction or not. Figured I'd make plans tonight if he wasn't back." It hit Virginia, then, that it seemed rather odd for a long-term shifter to be replacing a short-term. What reason did they have to let her go home early because they were short a waiter? It also hit her, at that moment, just how docile and gullible living this life had made her. Her anger at the muggles flared, even as Patricia said something about Thomas still being gone.

"Rumour mill has it that he figured out a way to get the brace off," she was saying, and that caught Virginia's attention.

"That's impossible," she said firmly, again realizing just how gullible and stupid the muggles had made her. "I mean…" _no, it isn't impossible. In fact, what should have been impossible was getting the damn things around our wrists in the first place. _She gave a long-suffering sigh and Patricia said nothing, simply getting her apron and leaving the kitchens in a hurry as she saw a family of four sit down in the main room. Virginia followed her, finding a lone young man with scraggly blond hair. She didn't look at him, but she was sure that he wasn't looking at her as she asked him what he wanted.

He didn't say anything.

"Weasley?" He asked, and Virginia jumped, her heart suddenly flaring to life as it tried to jump up her throat at the sound of that name. And that voice - she knew that voice! But dare she look up? It could have been a trick. She bristled at the thought and simply jotted something worthless down on her notepad.

"Will that be all, sir?" She asked stupidly.

"Good God, Weasley, look up," he snorted. "I shouldn't be surprised. Of course, your entire family and all the pathetic blood traitors have probably submitted to this wickedness. Repenting the ways of your wicked enemies, are you?" She dared to look up and caught the silver eyes of her older brother's childhood enemy, Draco Malfoy. But she was sure he wouldn't have that name today. He didn't have a bracelet around his wrist, and somehow, he even had the badge of an honourable muggle on his crisp white business shirt.

"You-you-but how? How did you-" She couldn't get the sentences out properly, and felt a blush rising at her cheeks. Looking down again, more out of habit than necessity, she scribbled out the words she had jotted on her pad and bit her lip nervously. "This is impossible," she whispered, closing her eyes. He chuckled darkly.

"Perhaps improbably. But if it were impossible I wouldn't be here, would I?"

"I'm going to get another waitress, this is too dangerous." With that, Ginn-NO! _She could not think of herself as Ginny_-Virginia turned on her heel and made her way back to the kitchen, where she demanded one of the newer waiters to go out there and help the blond man in the corner. No questions asked, he scurried from the room like a frightened rabbit, and Virginia leaned against the counter, running her hands through her hair as she tried to slow her pounding heart. The moments were few and far between when she just randomly met a person she had known in the Old Life, and she had never heard of a wizard who escaped the boundaries of the bracelet.

_But it's possible,_ she thought, Patricia's words coming back to her. _Rumour mill has it he figured out how to get the brace off._ Virginia choked and started coughing, grabbing the attention of a little French girl named Gabrielle. After murmuring her thanks, she went back out and went to the furthest possible table away from Malfoy, fear stabbing her where she felt his gaze pierce through her soul. She was afraid. Afraid because the arrival of Malfoy, without that bracelet, occurring on the same day she learned that one of the Scrubbles had managed to get that bracelet off their arm, couldn't be just a coincidence. And she was afraid to hope that, somehow, it was possible…

_"We'll figure something out, Gin, you know we will. Even if it takes ten years, even if it takes a hundred. Muggles were meant to be ignorant of our world and fate always struggles to right itself."_

She shook her head, and walked through the rest of the day in a robotic daze. Getting on The Bus, she had almost completely forgotten about her date with Laurel. The young woman, however, seemed to be just about as lost in thought as she did.

"You heard about Thomas?" Laurel asked, her voice quiet.

"Yeah," said Virginia.

Nothing more needed to be said.


End file.
